Goodbye, John
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: It wasn't the beginning. It was only the end. Post-Reichenbach, Post-Reunion, aka, back to their normal selves.


**Goodbye, John.**

"Come on, Sherlock."

"I have no desire."

"Please."

"This is absolutely ridiculous. I don't want to be here. Why do you insist on making _my_ life difficult?"

John looked up at Sherlock. The detective was leaning against the balcony, his hair waving slightly with the breeze. It was cold out. Snowflakes were falling.

"Fine," John said. He looked away from Sherlock, raising his glass to his lips. The champagne was bitter. "Fine, then." He took a deep breath, nodding slightly. "You can leave. I'll- I'll call or something." John glanced at Sherlock for a moment longer before pushing away from the balcony, wandering back towards the door.

Music drifted out through the door when he opened it. John glanced over his shoulder, but Sherlock's gaze was still locked on something in the distance. He wasn't in the present. Of course he wasn't.

John slipped back inside.

* * *

Sherlock stared at the distant lights, trying to drown out the music in the background. Stupid, fast, erratic tune. Lots of sashaying and twirling or... whatever the hell else people did during a fast dance.

He didn't want to be here. John _knew_ that he didn't want to be here.

John had insisted on it anyway.

John's wedding reception.

Sherlock frowned. The idea of weddings always put a sick taste in his mouth, but John's wedding made him feel even more ill. He had expected it, of course, but it didn't lessen the disgust when, one day, John had, impromptu, point-blank blurted _"I'm proposing to her!"_.

* * *

When John had blurted to Sherlock that he was going to propose to Mary, Sherlock's face had taken on an absurdly annoyed expression. It settled on disgust after a moment, and Sherlock had gone on to say, not _why_, but _when_.

John had been planning for it for a long time. And he and Mary, they had talked about it. He already knew the answer before he proposed. He had still been nervous, somewhere between wringing his sweaty palms and feeling ready to pass out or vomit. It was only his nerves that had prompted him to tell Sherlock at all, really.

He had told him the night before he proposed. The night before he and Mary got engaged.

"Sorry about that," John muttered as he joined up with Mary in the ballroom.

"Sherlock doesn't like this," she replied. It wasn't a question.

John gave a small smile. "He never has liked anything that I have."

* * *

Sherlock didn't like Mary. He didn't... know why, really. She was stupid, but most people were. He got used to most people's stupid, and she wasn't any stupider than the average stupid person. She wasn't the advanced level of stupid like Anderson, but she wasn't at John's level, either.

He sighed. His breath formed a small puff of condensation.

He turned and walked back inside.

It was too cheerful. John had too many friends. People that John didn't even talk to on a normal basis were here, at this reception. What in the _hell_ was the point in inviting people that he didn't even talk to normally?

He swallowed, hovering by the door. His eyes instinctively sought John.

* * *

John had invited Mary to another dance. The music was slow now, thankfully. He'd never been the best of dancers, but Mary didn't care, John didn't care, and he was content to just hold his wife close and slowly sway in time to the music.

"He's watching you," Mary murmured, her voice soft in John's ear.

John looked up. He met Sherlock's eyes across the dance floor. He offered a weak smile.

He almost felt bad for Sherlock, except that he knew he shouldn't. He had wanted Sherlock to be his best man. It had only made sense. And he had wanted Sherlock to accompany him to his wedding reception. Just a few hours, just to hang around and support him. Somehow, and he still wasn't quite sure how, he had talked him into it. But, Sherlock, being Sherlock, hadn't been cooperative.

"I told him he could leave," John replied as he returned to his dance with Mary. "He's not comfortable. I... don't know why I've kept him here this long."

"You care for him, John. He's your best friend. That's why."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. Doesn't change the fact that it was selfish."

"You're anything but selfish, John."

* * *

Sherlock moved from his position when the music stopped. He glided across the dance floor, ignoring the crowd of people and trying to ignore their thoughts. He eventually came to a fluid stop next to John, John and Mary, looking straight at the new Mrs. Watson.

"Would you like to dance?"

* * *

John's attention snapped immediately to Sherlock's face. Had Sherlock really just asked- Well, John had been asking Sherlock to dance with Mary just once, just to prove that he didn't _hate_ her, to prove to her that Sherlock accepted it- but-

"Sherlock?" John asked, blinking at the consulting detective. "What was that?"

* * *

Sherlock didn't look back at him. He kept his eyes fixed on Mary. "Would you like to dance?" he repeated, resisting the urge to grit his teeth.

* * *

Sherlock's words were filled with awkwardness, his entire posture was stiff, and he just exuded that he probably hoped a hole would open in the floor and swallow him whole. John would have said that he was embarrassed, but Sherlock didn't get embarrassed. He just got annoyed.

Mary's eyes flickered to John's briefly. John blinked and nodded slightly. "Well, right. I'll get... more champagne," John muttered, splitting away from Sherlock and Mary.

He glanced back over his shoulder, resisting from stopping outright when Sherlock placed his hands on Mary for the next dance.

Surprises abounds.

* * *

Sherlock watched Mary carefully, assessing her eyes. Clear eyes. She knew what John wanted. It was obvious. She was good for John.

She was also nervous about Sherlock. No surprise there. He did have a way to make people nervous.

"I'll take care of him," she muttered after a moment, meeting Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock frowned slightly, eyebrows knitting together. "Will you?"

"I promise."

"_Can_ you?" he said.

"To the best of my ability, Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't notice that the music had stopped until after John tapped him on the shoulder.

* * *

"Can I have my wife back?" John asked, amusement lifting his tone. He didn't know why Sherlock looked so serious, so caught up, or why Mary was smiling quietly, or why Sherlock hadn't noticed the music stopping and slunk away. But, he was trying to stay upbeat about it. Sherlock was being good, after all. It didn't seem like he had shouted at her, called her an idiot, or insulted her dress, at least.

* * *

Sherlock dropped his hands, taking two steps back. "Obviously." He glanced at John, his eyes flickering between Mary and him. They both seemed happy. Perfectly, obliviously happy.

How... dull.

John nodded at him slightly, a slight inclination of the head. Sherlock read the meaning in the look as _Thank you_.

* * *

John wrapped an arm around Mary's shoulder as he walked with her over to their table. He glanced back over his shoulder. Sherlock was still watching them, but, upon noticing that John was looking at him, turned away.

There was a flash of something, something in Sherlock's eyes before he turned...

John didn't know, but he almost thought it looked like Sherlock was trying to say something... Something, something... Something like...

_Goodbye._

* * *

No matter whatever John said about marriage being a beginning, Sherlock knew the truth.

It wasn't the beginning. It was only the end.

* * *

**My take on Sherlock and John's [mainly Sherlock's] emotions after John's wedding to Mary. Well, ****_I _****think that 'wedding' means that John will be married; that's my opinion, so, yeah. Now, I'll be sad when/if John gets married [because I don't want him to move out; not because I ship Johnlock] and when/if he moves out, they have to stay friends like in the canon. They ****_have_**** to.**

**Reviews are encouraged! Thanks!**


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